Tag Archives: Meeting

140 Words #9

“Nick…” she whispered and put both hands on my cheeks. I stood dumbstruck wondering if I should touch her, but didn’t have much time to do anything before she leaned in and planted a soft kiss on my mouth. I’m pretty sure my heart stopped for the seconds it lasted. “That was beautiful,” she finally added after a long silence of looking at each other. She took a step back, smiled, turned around and disappeared through the door.

‘Thank you…’ I muttered to myself, long after she had vanished and would be unable to hear me. I allowed my knees to bend so I could slide down along the side of the worktop and onto the floor. I was overcome with emotion, unable to prevent a single tear from running down my cheek as I registered an unfamiliar feeling: happiness.

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140 Words #8

‘You’re a rotten bastard, you know that?’

‘Don’t you judge me! You’ll learn to love the lifestyle I’ve created for you. You’ve got enough money to last two lifetimes and you’ve done nothing with it. I’m simply helping you to live life while you still can. And if you’re wondering about your new posture, it’s down to a little prop that I’ve acquired for you. Go to the front door.’

I backed out of the cramped room and headed to the entrance. Next to it was a cane and a black cape with bright red lining that was long enough to nearly drag along the floor when I tried it.

‘So you’re telling me I’m walking around looking like a cross between Dracula and Jack the Ripper? No wonder she wasn’t sure if she wanted to come home with me.’

Don’t Wear Any Panties…

I was in Honolulu, living on the money my father had left me in a trust when he passed away. Going to Hawai’i was a desperate attempt to be anywhere but London where the skies were always grey, and flying to the other side of the world where the sun was a permanent fixture seemed like a great solution.

In spite of having grown up in a society where you don’t talk to strangers unless you’re in a pub, where personal space is incredibly important and general correctness is valued above all else, it didn’t take long for me to feel right at home. I’ll admit that, at first, it was a bit of a culture shock. As it turns out, pale skin and red hair makes you stand out in a place like Hawai’i – in a good way. On the first day I was there, I walked down Kalakaua Avenue and got the attention of a local gentleman. He raised his hand, stopped next to me, looked straight into my eyes and said “you’re beautiful” before walking on. I was so perplexed that I was unable to react until he was out of sight.

And this was just a taste of what was to come.

One evening I was sitting on the Waikiki Beach, watching the sunset, when a man who looked like he was in his mid- to late 30s sat down next to me. He was no more than 5’8, had pitch black hair, sunglasses and was only wearing a pair of loose fitting jeans.

‘Amazing sunset, isn’t it?’

‘So it is,’ I confirmed, turned my head slightly and looked directly at him. When we got eye contact he revealed the brightest smile I’d ever seen.

‘What brings you here to the island in the sun?’

‘I needed a time-out, I guess.’

‘It’s safe to say that you’ve come to the right place for that.’

‘It’s amazing how quickly it gets dark once the sun starts to fade. It’s like turning off a switch and suddenly it’s pitch black.’

‘It’s the time of year too, it’s still winter here in January.’

‘You’re from here?’

‘Born and bred. I moved to the mainland for a few while but came back a few years ago. It’s a different life here. How long have you been?’

‘Two days. I already feel at home here. The heat, the people, the surroundings… and I’ve only seen Waikiki.’

‘Then you’ve seen nothing yet,’ he chuckled and lay back onto his elbows. He was toned and slender, his chest defined and hairless. My eyes travelled down his exposed torso and stopped by his jeans. While we’d been talking, the sun had disappeared into the horizon and he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. His eyes were a dark velvety brown. I couldn’t figure out why I was so drawn to him, but there was something about his demeanour that triggered my interest.

And that smile. That smile that I couldn’t stop looking at.

‘What are your plans for the rest of the evening?’ he inquired. Before I could answer “nothing” he went on, ‘…because in three hours there’s a band playing at Keone’s on Lewers Street, just up the road. Walk up Kalakaua Avenue and Lewers Street is right there.’

‘OK, I’ll… come.’

He smiled once more at my unsubtle innuendo, took my hand in his and kissed it as he looked deep into my eyes. ‘Yes, you will,’ he stated, stood up and that was when I realised he actually had a white shirt with a light pattern with him. As soon as he’d put the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, he reached out his hand once more to help me up. His other hand went around the small of my back and pulled me slightly towards him. My chest was so close to his that I could feel his heartbeats against my t-shirt. He was exactly as tall as I was. His skin and hair smelled of the sun and the sea.

He finally let go of my right hand and slid it around my upper back, embracing me so that our bodies finally touched. As his mouth found mine, I let myself go and embraced him in the same way he already had me. The fact that I, the English rose, was in the arms of a total stranger on a beach in Hawaii was almost laughable. I didn’t even kiss on the first date, usually, and that was after an evening of wining and dining.

Yet here, with the sound of the ocean in my ear, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He kept his hands on my back and ran his fingers through my hair with one hand. Eventually he kissed his way across my left cheek and down, resting his mouth in the crook of my neck and sighed into my ear.

I could feel his growing erection against my pelvis and an urge to strip him down right there washed over me like a tidal wave.

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘Don’t wear any panties.’

With those words, he kissed my hand once more and walked up towards Kalakaua Avenue. I just stood there, perplexed, and realised I didn’t even know his name.

The Disappearance of Higgins

It was nearly 7p.m. and I was running down Bow Street on route to the Covent Garden underground, where I would meet my date for the evening. I was late, for no apparent reason at all, and as I approached what felt like fifty miles an hour I regretted wearing my stupidly high heels and summer dress.

As I passed the Fielding Hotel, I crashed into a man on his way out. To say that I went flying is an understatement. It was as though it happened in slow motion: the first thing that went down was that my bag released itself from my shoulder, turned on its head and threw up all the contents onto the street; my right shoe slid off my foot and hit said person on the head – followed by me grabbing onto the first thing I could, tearing off the arm of their jacket in the process. And yet, even after all that, I fell flat on my face – still holding the torn-off arm.

I’m fairly certain I’ve looked more elegant.

For a moment I just lay there, in shock, trying to figure out if I was still in one piece. Before long, a pair of black shoes appeared in front of me, followed by a man kneeling before me and offering me his hand.

‘You alright?’ he asked as I let him help me up. ‘Allow me,’ he chuckled, knelt down again and put my shoe back on my foot. As he stood back up, we finally saw eye-to-eye. It was difficult to tell his age. Certainly in his late 40s, at least. He was overall broad without being overweight, his hair was greying and he was wearing big glasses that looked like something out of the 60s.

‘I’m so… so sorry about your jacket,’ I muttered in horror and meekly handed him the black sleeve. He was wearing a white shirt underneath. ‘I’ll replace it!’

‘Never mind the jacket,’ his deep, velvet voice assured me. ‘Are you alright?’ he repeated.

‘Superb,’ I responded as I looked down myself. My right knee and ditto arm looked like they belonged to a 10-year-old that liked running down hills in the summer. Before I knew it, he was back on his hands and knees, putting my mobile phone, two pens, note pad, digital voice recorder, a packet of Extra gum and antihistamines back into my bag. I thanked my own good sense that I’d put the condoms in the pocket with a zipper. ‘Thank you, you didn’t have to do that,’ I offered as he handed it back to me.

‘You’re a journalist?’

‘What gave me away?’ I grinned.

‘Well, you’re no doubt late to meet someone and I need to change my jacket,’ he smiled. ‘It was nice… running into you.’

‘You too.’

Without much further ado he went back into the Fielding Hotel and I decided to text my date and inform him that I was running late. So to speak. Then I walked the last three minutes to the Covent Garden underground station, arriving fashionably late at 7:12p.m. to the obvious question: “What the hell happened to you?”

As I turned up for work Monday morning, half an hour late, the first person I met was Sandy. We both worked on the entertainment section of the newspaper where she basically did the celebrity gossip and I did, well, real news. She made no excuses for her taste for gossip and I no excuse for my distaste for it. Together we were a formidable team, even though she was 47 and I was 30.

‘How was your date?’ she asked and handed me a cup of tea.

‘Who? Oh, he’s 32 and still lives with his mother.’

‘Say no more. Did you hear about Drake Neville?’

‘Who?’

‘You’re kidding, right? Well, I suppose he may be a bit vintage for you. He’s a highly intellectual singer/songwriter who had some hits in the 80s and early 90s, went on to acting in some HBO TV-series in the US, did a degree in law and was going to appear at the Old Vic from Saturday.’

‘That’s an eclectic CV. Was?’

‘Nobody knows where he is. He never showed up for a sitzprobe on Friday evening and they couldn’t reach him on his mobile either on Saturday or Sunday so a colleague went to his hotel room yesterday and found signs of a struggle, apparently. There were torn-up clothing, his glasses were broken and the way the furniture was arranged suggested something had happened.’

‘How odd… So he’s doing “My Fair Lady”, I presume?’

‘Yes, he was going to be Higgins.’

‘He may still be Higgins.’

We both sat down with the rest of our colleagues to hear today’s brief by the editor. Our colleagues were mainly men in their 50s, except for the editor in chief who was a woman – though she was of ditto age as the men, and behaved more of a man than they did. They were all afraid of her because she had more balls. This taken into consideration, it surprised us all to see Carole really distressed. Carole McKenna never got distraught.

‘You’ve probably all heard about Drake Neville by now. We will make this case a top priority. Katie, you will focus only on this case. Go out, talk to colleagues, trace his steps, talk to the hotel and report back to me. Use your investigative skills for something useful,’ she said as she walked slowly towards me, her voice shaking. ‘We will find… this man. Do you hear me?’

‘Sure thing,’ I stated, not actually daring to point out that my actual journalistic skills were more in the regions of reviewing plays, operas and musicals. Maybe do the odd quickie of an interview with an actor or singer, but that was usually the extent to which my skills were required to stretch. Now I was suddenly going to be thrown into an investigation?

‘Why her?’ Stuart Summer asked from the opposite side of the table. She quickly turned her head and sent him a glare that made him cower ever so slightly in his seat.

‘Because,’ she spat and left the room.

‘Thanks, that explains it,’ he mumbled sarcastically as we all got up and sauntered back to our computers. I eyed Sandy and she sent me a look that told me she knew what this was all about. As we sat down and booted up our laptops she moved her chair closer to me and demonstrably looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention.

‘Carole had a monster crush on Drake Neville after a brief meeting in New York in the late 80s when he was playing some club. Apparently they met afterwards, had talked a bit and he had kissed her goodnight.’

‘So he was a stud, then?’

‘Yes, back then. He’s getting on a bit now but he was quite a charmer. He had one of those voices that could make devils cry, both when he sang and when he spoke. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him!’

‘I’m really bad with names, but I’ll probably recognise him when I see a picture. Will you find one while I get another cuppa?’

As I returned to our desk she had Youtube up on her screen.

‘This is from a private gig he did last year, seemingly. That voice…’ she muttered. I stopped behind her back and leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look. I nearly dropped my cup as the camera zoomed in on his face – as I realised that Drake Neville the man who had introduced himself to me as Daniel three days before.

A Forbidden Moment

As I arrived at his dressing room after the show he opened the door slowly, stood aside and watched me closely as I quietly made my way past him. Just as I was about to move out of his reach, he grabbed hold of my hand, pulled me back and virtually threw me against the door with a numbing thud.

We stood eye to eye, quietly. I parted my lips and leaned in so I almost met his mouth, but stopped and awaited his next move. His chest was moving rapidly, his nose flaring, like that of an agitated bull. He lingered, teasing me, until he bent his head to the side and made the first impact. I noticed that whatever I did he followed my moves with precision and subdued excitement, eager to please. I lost myself in the moment, wrapped my arms about him, unable to hold back a quiet moan as he pressed his body up against me.

He bent his legs, wrapped his arms about my thighs and lifted me up, sliding me against the surface of the door, hiking me up until he faced my ample cleavage. He buried his face in it for a moment before allowing me to slide back down so he could bury his face in the crook of my neck, tickling me with his stubble. He started fiddling with his hand against the wall and it was only when the room went dark that I realised he’d been looking for the light switch. I looked over his shoulder as he went for my neck once more and saw a stripe of light entering through the window, leaving a beam from a nearby street light.

‘You still owe me that song,’ I whispered in his ear. He stopped in his tracks and chuckled for a moment before taking a step backwards, into the dark room. ‘Woo me with your gorgeous voice…’ I muttered as my eyes still grew accustomed to the darkness. There were moments of silence as I moved across to the window, leaned against it, watching the world pass by outside. Taxis, foot traffic, cars pulling up and leaving the street.

Then I heard his voice. It was in Italian, a song I’d never heard before, performed almost like a lullaby. There was no accompaniment, just his voice surrounded by the silence and darkness of the room. I got chills as I realised he was walking slowly towards me, ending the last note alongside my cheek as he wrapped his arms about my waist, just under my bust line, the lace of my black bra scratching gently against his arm.

Although the song was over, I could still hear the softness of his voice in my head as his hands began to lightly massage my flesh. Whatever it was about it had sounded so passionate, needing, wanting, like a hunger that built up slowly and ended in our current position. In one quick move he ripped open the buttons in my shirt, causing the rusty orange glow from the street lights cut a thick beam diagonally across my belly. This beam travelled up and down my naked torso, illuminating my breasts now and again whenever I moved far enough into the light.

He turned me around so I could face him, took an extra step closer to me, his chest very nearly touching mine as he was breathing. On impulse I lifted my hands and put them on his moving chest, feeling the heat coming from it. I tilted my head back, enough to meet his eyes properly, before grabbing hold of his shirt with both of my hands and ripping it open, buttons coming undone and falling onto the floor. I wasn’t prepared to give him full control just yet – so I turned and sauntered towards the baby grand piano.

I looked over my shoulder, slightly humoured by the expression on his face; shocked at the fact that his shirt currently missed six buttons. He quickly followed me and I turned around, slid his shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor.

I let my hands run across his chest and stomach before I opened his belt and tugged at the buttons in his jeans, releasing him from his cage. I then knelt on the stool before the piano and made my way further up the instrument itself, not stopping until I was sitting on top of it and closed the lid over the keys with a loud bang as I put my feet on it.

My eyes were growing familiar with the darkness, but not enough for me to be able to see anything but the contours of him as he moved slowly towards me. I could hear him breathe, felt the heat oozing off him, the energy between us roaring as he finally came close enough for me to see him. He bent down slightly and with one rapid swing of an arm the stool went sailing across the floor until it hit the wall, stopping dead in its tracks.

My legs were shaking as I spread them, welcoming him to do whatever he saw fit. As though reading my mind he came as close to the piano as he could, resting one hand each side of my hips, leaning over me until I gave in and lay down flat on my back.

His chest touched my stomach as his mouth began its journey above my belly button, circling it with his tongue, tracing his movement downwards with it and finally reaching the desired spot between my legs. He groaned as his tongue dove into the heaving flesh. I sat up on my elbows as he grabbed hold of my hips and pulled me towards him until my pulsating crotch hit his waistline. He lifted me off the piano, looked around and carried me towards the stool that stood against the wall.

Once we reached it he forced me onto it, turned me around and made me stand on my knees, holding onto the back rest, with my back against him. His hands caressed my skin in bold, broad sweeps, covering every inch of my body. I could feel his erection between my legs, rubbing my most sensitive area without actually entering it. I could hardly breathe, but he made me wait as he caressed my buttocks with his hands, extending the movement upwards over my back. I reached behind me, grabbed hold of his strong thigh to try and pull him closer, making it obvious what I wanted, what I needed him to do. He entered me slowly, gradually speeding and roughing it up. His hands were holding firmly onto my hips, thrusting me against him, the friction increasing rapidly with each urgent thrust.

Suddenly he stopped. I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t over. He moved me from the chair and sat down on it himself before guiding me onto his lap, facing away from him. The dance began again with a renewed vibrancy. I arched my back against him, reaching for the back of his head as I felt the climax approaching. I could hardly breathe as a violent wave of shivers hit me with the energy of a runaway train, leaving me unable to keep my legs on the floor any longer. Moments before my own orgasm was over, he joined me.

The mighty grip around my waist loosened and I rolled down his arm, hitting the floor with a gasping sigh of relief.

Nothing Ever Really Changes

I stopped by the entrance to the museum and pulled my phone out of my pocket. Another message: “Take your time, I’m sitting on a bench opposite Nelson.” I took a final look down myself, feeling relatively confident in my tight jeans that accentuated my rounded bottom and a top that accentuated my waist and chest – giving me the hour glass shape I knew he couldn’t resist. I had also chosen my shoes wisely, because I knew he’d notice. To top it all off I wore my hair down, my dark red curls bouncing off my back as I approached him.

I’d pulled out all the stops. For old time’s sake.

As I walked down the stairs to the square itself I saw him on a bench across from the statue of Nelson, as promised. He was staring into his music player as I slowly walked over and stopped in front of him. Once he realised I was there he slowly looked up, taking in all the sights in the process, yanked the earplugs out of his lug holes and stood up. For a moment we just lingered. I bent my head backwards ever so slightly to meet his eyes as confidently as I could.

He didn’t say anything, just looked down at me over the bridge of his nose, before bending his knees and picking me up by snaking one arm around my back. As a reflex, I put my arms around his neck and took in the scent from his skin. It seemed like he, too, was trying to give me a trip down memory lane by putting on that perfume he knew used to drive me wild. He rested his mouth in the crook of my neck and sighed, hugging me tighter with the arm that held me up and slid his fingers through my hair with the other.

When I opened my eyes and looked over his shoulder, I realised that we’d attracted a curious crowd who wondered what was going on. I helped myself down, sliding slowly down his chest and torso, until my feet once again hit the ground. He still held me against him, refusing to let up until I took a physical step back.

‘It’s good to see you,’ he finally said, his voice dark and soft, like chocolate. ‘Thank you for coming.’

He looked how I remembered, but better. He’d toned up, his hair and beard had traces of gray and that “something” I’d never quite been able to put my finger on that made him irresistible… well, that was there too.

‘For old time’s sake, right?’

‘Right,’ he chuckled. ‘Shall we?’ he added and offered me his arm, like a proper gentleman. I slid my hand in between his rib-cage and his bicep, giving it a little squeeze. Probably as a reflex, he momentarily flexed his muscle, quietly reminding me that he still “had it”. A completely unnecessary exercise, as he’d already done that by lifting me off the ground using only one arm a minute or so ago.

We walked up St Martin’s Lane on route to Browns Restaurant, where he’d suggested in a previous message, in complete silence. He just touched my hand as I clutched his bicep, repeating to myself that it was “just a lunch”. That he’d married Rose and she was probably waiting for him somewhere, alongside their – probably – four kids.

‘Let me get that for you,’ he said as we reached Browns and opened the door for me. We were immediately shown to our table, that he’d booked in advance, and given menus. We both ordered beef with fries and salad. I made sure I got a glass of red while he stuck to Guinness with his upscale pub lunch.

‘What brings you to town?’ I finally asked, having gulped down a third of my glass of wine in one gulp.

‘I’m back at work, singing. Can you believe it?’

‘No,’ I said earnestly. ‘I didn’t know you’d started singing again. The last time we spoke…’

‘A lot has happened since the last time we spoke,’ he interrupted me. ‘I met a miracle worker that got had me doing yoga and breathing exercises. But don’t worry, I haven’t gone all zen on you,’ he grinned. ‘It took a while but for the past few years I’ve been welcomed back to the stages I never thought I’d grace again.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ I offered. ‘How’s Rose?’ I asked, getting it out of the way as quickly as possible.

‘I hear she’s fine. We haven’t had much to say to one another in the past four years or so.’

‘Right.’

‘I’ve enjoyed being on my own, putting things into perspective, finding myself…’

‘I thought you said you hadn’t gone all zen on me.’

He laughed out loud.

‘Did you like who you found?’

‘As it turns out, I wasn’t that hard to find,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ve had a pretty good grip on who I am for most of my life.’

I smiled to myself as I filled my mouth with another piece of beef. I don’t know what I’d expected, but for some reason I was still surprised that he the whole process, the life-changing events of the past few years, hadn’t really changed him. Zen my arse.

‘What’s new with you? I heard you dumped what’s his face and that he married the most level headed woman I’ve ever met.’

‘I think what makes it work for those two is that they’re both as sedated as each other and happy with that. He’s a lovely guy but I swear to God, he provided me with the most boring sex I’ve ever had,’ I said without thinking, causing him to swallow his meat down the wrong way, followed by a coughing fit and eventually a belly laugh.

‘I’ve missed that,’ he beamed. ‘At least you can’t say that the sex we had was ever boring.’

‘This is true. So, when do you start rehearsals?’ I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the past, which wasn’t all that easy as it was literally staring me straight in the face. I could feel the blood rushing through my body, my heart racing even though I wasn’t moving – and I had to uncross my legs to avoid any friction.

‘Next week. You look… stunning,’ he continued, trying to steer the conversation back to where he wanted it. ‘So do you?’

‘Do I what?’ I asked flatly as I threw back the rest of my wine, fighting the urge to lunge at him.

‘Remember when I tied you up in LA?’ he asked, referring to the last message before our meeting that I’d avoided replying to. With good reason.

‘Is that why you wanted to see me? To ask me that?’

I heard that my voice sounded irritated. What irritated me the most was that I liked where the conversation was going. I liked that he almost immediately steered me towards sex, towards our shared desires, towards our mutual lust for one another. At the same time, I was angry that he felt he could just make contact after six years of nothing, four of them as single, and expect me to just – literally – bend over by doing something as simple as remind me of what we used to do. The hot, steaming, moments of passion that still made my nipples harden just from the thought alone.

‘I apologise for taking liberties. Old habits, I guess.’

‘I should go.’

‘We should both go,’ he said and had settled the bill before I’d had the time to object. They were clearly interested in catering to as many people as possible during the lunch rush, so for once the service was quick. On the street I kept my distance. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew I needed to in order to not get sucked back into a whirlwind fuckfest with him that would – without doubt – end in tears again for me in the not too distant future.

‘Thanks for lunch,’ I said, turned on my heel and walked hastily back down St. Martin’s Lane, counting the seconds before he caught up with me. He came around in front of me and touched both of my shoulders, holding onto me, making sure I couldn’t rush off.

‘I’m not going to lure you with some speech about how I’ve changed and become a better man. I don’t have any guarantees, all I can say is that I’ve had time to get my ducks in a row. I know I was a prick to you on several occasions in the past. All I ask is that we go on a proper date so we can get to know each other again. Tomorrow night, what do you say?’

I looked at him. This gesture was slightly out of character. Maybe he had changed, maybe he hadn’t. Even though I leaned towards “hadn’t”, I figured I owed it to myself to find out – so I made eye-contact with him, gave him a quick nod and pushed him out of the way.

Rather than rushing, I got my hips swaying and my hair bouncing off my back as I walked away, making damn sure I had the upper hand when we met again the next day.

The End?

To my surprise he was on time and actually waiting for me.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said and lingered before me, trying to suss out whether I was going to agree to a hug or not. As I didn’t volunteer to step close to him, he seemed happy to leave it. ‘Let’s go to my place.’

For him, the 1-bedroom flat was rather modest, but for being in the middle of Covent Garden is was quite sizeable. He showed me into the sitting room and parked on the couch, waiting for me to sit down.

I felt angry, mainly with myself, for allowing his presence to toy with my emotions once more – especially as it was officially over and had been for some time. For a moment I wanted to just run out of there, but before I could make up my mind he pulled me down onto his lap, facing him, and put his strong arms around me, willing me to do the same. I followed his orders, as usual, and for a moment it was as though my hurt was on pause and it was old times again.

‘I’m so sorry for confusing you and for hurting you. For all this…’ he said, the velvet in his voice caressing my wounded soul with the words I had given up on hearing from him. I nodded, indicating I was listening. ‘I’ve just been trying to figure out what I want in life…’

A silence built up between us as he rested his chin on my head, allowing me to put my mouth and nose against the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin.

‘I’ve appeared angry at times because I’ve been frustrated…’ I eventually offered.

‘You don’t need to explain, I understand. I do,’ he whispered and sighed, simultaneously tightening the grip around my back, like he didn’t want to let go.

I considered standing up and gracefully bowing out, leaving it like that, but I felt unable to move. He was like a drug I’d spent a long time trying to quit but could just never resist when it was in front of me.

‘Ideally I’d have you naked right now,’ he sighed a minute or so later, making me wish that I in fact had followed my instinct and walked out before – at the same time making me glad I hadn’t. ‘You bring out sides of me that others just… don’t.’

‘You know what you do to me…’ I muttered and didn’t move, although I knew I should have.

He laughed sweetly, once more tightening his grip around me, allowing one of his hands to travel up and down my back. I pulled back slightly so I could look at him as I stroked his face and neck, his mouth lingering just over mine. I could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. ‘You’re not going to make this easy, are you?’

I shook my head. To me, it was a bizarrely satisfying moment of knowing he wanted me as much as he ever did, if not more. I knew I could have him, even though I shouldn’t. I wanted him to seduce him and make him give in to his desires, especially as he shouldn’t succumb to me. I wanted to take him from her, if only for a moment.

‘What is it you want?’ he asked and I noticed that the touch of velvet was back in the middle of his voice.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I asked, my expression strong and clear.

He nodded. ‘You know how I like it when you’re vocal about what you want.’

‘I want you,’ I whispered as I looked straight into his eyes. ‘Now.’

‘Could we end it on a positive note, like this?’ he asked but didn’t wait for an answer, just moved his hands from my back and up to my cheeks, pulling my face up to his and meeting my mouth in a kiss that reflected the raw passion we had for each other, one that didn’t seem to vanish – in spite of our best efforts to stay away from one another.

We couldn’t reach the bedroom fast enough, only stopping off in the hall to share another kiss. A simple touch of his lips made my crotch pulsate with noble passion.

I pulled him with me into the bedroom and let gave in to the urge once more.

Just. Once. More.

As I finally rolled off him about an hour or so later, the afterglow of my orgasm left me wanting to say things to him, things I knew would be better left unsaid. He embraced my back and offered another kiss. He stoked my back, kissed me once more, let his fingers play with my hair, as we both enjoyed the silence and the afterglow.

‘…definitely on a good note…’ he finally uttered and I could feel my heart go cold, to be reminded so abruptly that it was indeed “the final time”. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he added quickly. ‘Don’t dwell.’

As the spell was already broken, I got up and followed the trail of my clothes into the hall. I put them on in silence, avoiding eye contact with him but all the time weary that he was standing there next to me, waiting for me to finish. I finally stood up before him and rested my head on his chest.

‘Please don’t dwell,’ he said again. ‘I do it too. Don’t…’ he whispered, before squeezing my shaking body against him. I took a step back and lingered before him, once again trying to overcome the strong desire to just… say it. To say the words I never felt the urge to say to anyone. I met his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew me well enough to know what was coming. ‘Please don’t…’ he pleaded quietly.

Overcome with sadness I waved the urge goodbye, stood on my toes and let my mouth barely touch his lips for a moment, followed by a deep, slow breath that gave me the necessary strength to step away and out the door.

For good.

Excerpt from my novel, “A Masochism Tango” (2012-)